


Two Lords in Summer

by Skyzuki



Category: Occult Hospital, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Demon Deals, Demons, Doomed Relationship, Historical Fantasy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Repressed Memories, Supernatural Elements, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyzuki/pseuds/Skyzuki
Summary: This is literally just my oc's expanded backstory. Baroque-era gays having grand time until demon shenanigans start happening.





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! A repost!  
> I honestly took this work down because I was convinced that no one really cared and then I got a few people asking for the second chapter so I'm reposting because I love you all sm T-T  
> This is a character backstory for an original character created for the Occult Hospital tag.

 He was a fledging adult, when the tryst began; just shy of adolescence, shedding the final few layers of boyhood. His face growing angular where it had once been soft, arms growing sinewy from sword drills and archery. His voice, though it remained airy and lilting, was no longer at the same pitch as his sister’s.

 His sister, he thought, was growing into a fine young woman herself. Poised and graceful as a respectable noblewoman should be, she was the pride of the family. He regarded her over the dining table as she sipped politely from a silver goblet. She was tightly laced into a fine gown of golden brocade, her blonde hair worn in ringlets that framed her face.

  The silence between them was comfortable, as it always had been; their father was a quiet man who rarely joined them at the table. The food was of high quality, as it always was; prepared in the private kitchens by the waitstaff.

 “I am expecting visitors tomorrow, I suspect they shouldn’t be here more than three days.” She spoke suddenly, snapping him out of the wine-addled haze he had been falling into.

 “Visitors? What business do they have here?

 “Father spoke highly of me to one of the Lords at the last soiree he attended. Apparently, his son was enamored with his claims. I’m expecting him, and his company.”

 “A lord? I never took you for the type to settle for such an arrangement.” His sister was the wilder one of the two siblings. As children, the servants would constantly retrieve her from the stables, having to brush the hay from her hair and the mud from her face.

 “I will be eighteen this year. It is past time for me to begin courting.”

 He nodded, understandingly. As a young man, he did not feel the need to worry about such things as marriage or courting.

 “I hope he brings gifts, you’re quite hard to please and I wouldn’t want him to come all this way for nothing.” She shot him a pointed glare, and then a disbelieving smile.

\--

 He woke the following morning to the sound of commotion outside. The sound of hoofbeats and carriage wheels turning, and then the sound of unfamiliar voices. He rolled himself away from the warm comfort of his bed, dressing himself in his discarded nightshirt and the riding breeches he wore the day prior. Hair unbrushed, looking quite disheveled, he made his way downstairs to the foyer.

 His sister stood at the base of the stairs, dressed in yet another fine brocade gown, her hair worn braided around her head like a crown. She was the spitting image of their late mother, and she stood with an air of purpose. The man that she was speaking to was likely the visiting Lord. A handsome man of around twenty-five years, he stood nearly a head and a half over her petite frame. His skin was tan, his hair was dark and curled, tied back with a ribbon.

 “Ah, you’ll have to excuse me, it appears my darling brother has decided to make an appearance.” She stepped aside, allowing him to place himself at her side. “Lord Favreau, may I introduce you to my elder brother, Mikael Rochert.”

 “A pleasure.” Responded the stranger, with a sincerity that made Mikael feel strange.

 “The pleasure is mine. I trust that you find our home welcoming.”

 “Very much so. Lady Marguerite was just telling me that you are a proficient swordsman; I’d be honored to spar with you, if you find yourself in need of a partner.”

 Mikael smirked at the suggestion, giving his sister a sidelong glance.

 “I think I’d enjoy taking you up on your offer, my lord.”

“Please,” the man interjected, “call me Raphael. I’ve no need for formalities in the company of friends.”

 Mikael smiled once more and looked down to find his expression mirrored on his sister’s face.

 “Friends, indeed.” Mikael echoed.

\--

 When Lord Favreau retired to his chambers for the night, he found his sister in the library.

 “Well, Maggie, I must admit that he is very charming.”

 “And handsome.” She added, looking much younger now in her bedclothes with her hair down. When Mikael simply cocked an eyebrow, she continued. “Oh Mikael, you should’ve heard the things he said to me. Father approves of him already.”

 “Father doesn’t approve of anything.”

 “All the more reason to celebrate, then.”

 Mikael huffed a laugh, placing his hands on her shoulders. “My sweet Maggie, my little sister, where have the years gone? One morning you and I are racing ponies, and the next you are engaged to be married and made the Lady of some household far away.”

 “I’m hardly engaged to be married to anyone. And not that far away, Mikael. Lord Favreau’s estate is merely three days ride away.”

 “I’m sure I could make it in two days.”

 She laughed at that, revealing all of her girlish features once more. The scrunch of her freckled nose, the slight gap between her two front teeth, the twinkle in her eye. He could only hope that Lord Favreau would not force that youthfulness out of her.

\--

 Mikael woke early the next morning and immediately made his way down to the sparring ring. He brought his own sword down from his chambers, never impressed with the simplistic offerings that hung on the weapons rack.

Much to his surprise, Lord Favreau was already waiting for him, sword in hand. “I apologize, Lord Rochert, I took the liberty of choosing my weapon while I was waiting.”

“No need for apologies, I appreciate a prepared opponent.”

 Lord Favreau smiled at that, and Mikael was suddenly in agreeance with his sister. He _was_ handsome, extremely so.

\-- 

 When Mikael found himself disarmed on the ground, back hitting the dirt, he found himself immeasurably impressed where he would have normally been angered. Lord Favreau looked shocked at himself, throwing his weapon to the side and offering a hand out for Mikael to use as leverage. “Apologies, my Lord. Have I hurt you?”

 “I’m much stronger than I look, I assure you.” Mikael gripped the other man’s forearm and pulled himself to his feet. “You fight like a soldier, are you sure you’re just a nobleman’s son?”

 “I am training for knighthood, my father disapproves.”

 “My sweet little sister has found herself a knight. How poetic.” Mikael noticed then that he hadn’t released Lord Favreau’s arm. Lord Favreau seemed to notice this, as well, and looked back up with a new darkness in his eyes.

 “With all due respect to Lady Marguerite, I find myself drawn to someone else.”

 Mikael exhaled, glancing away from Lord Favreau’s intense eyes, to his lips. There was no more time to process the situation before Mikael acted; tugging Lord Favreau closer and into a kiss.

\-- 

 Mikael had never been kissed. Not in any way that mattered. He had been soothed with gentle pecks to a scraped knee, or to his forehead after a nightmare, but he had never had anything like this. He was aware of his hands clutching desperately to Lord Favreau’s linen shirt, and then to the dark curls of his hair, but he couldn’t stop himself. Time seemed to slow, his body felt immeasurably warm, his breaths were ragged. Lord Favreau was responsive in a similar manner, although it was apparent that he had more experience with this type of situation. His hands were planted firmly on Mikael’s hips, thumbs occasionally digging into the flesh of his lower back.

 “Please.” He heard himself gasp against Lord Favreau’s open mouth, and then again: “Please, please.”

 He had no idea what he was asking for. He had no idea where to begin. His skin felt too tight for his frame, unable to cope with the prospect of walking back to his rooms without release.

 “Please, what, Lord Rochert?”

 “Take me.”

 And just like that, they were on their way to Mikael’s chambers, trying their hardest to remain inconspicuous. To the average servant they must’ve appeared as nothing more than a pair of young noblemen, flushed from a rigorous sparring session, both a bit askew but nothing to gossip about.

 Once the ornate door had shut behind them, they were on each other once more, feverish and desperate. Lord Favreau’s calloused hands found their way underneath Mikael’s thin shirt, warm hands meeting the soft skin of his stomach and forcing a surprised sound out of him.

 “Is this alright?” Lord Favreau asked, pulling back just far enough to study Mikael’s face with a concerned light in his dark eyes.

 “A bit of a foolish question, Lord Favreau. If I did not approve, I would have maimed you by now.” Mikael managed, voice weak and breathy.

 He chuckled, his expression revealing the dimples on his cheeks. He leaned in to give Mikael a soft, quick kiss on the mouth. “Please, call me Raphael, there is no need for posturing anymore.”

 “Was there ever a need?”

 Raphael ran his hands along the sides of Mikael’s torso, causing him to shiver. “No.”

\--

 “Do you have any oils?” Raphael asked once they were both stripped of their shirts and catching their breath on Mikael’s bed.

 “The lamp.” Was all that Mikael had to say before Raphael was moving across the room to retrieve it, blowing out the flame.

 The dim light made it more difficult for Mikael to appreciate the toned planes of Raphael’s body. Tanned from the summer sun, he had the strong arms of a proper swordsman. His hair had been freed from its ribbon, falling heavy around his shoulders and obscuring his face slightly. Despite the humid air and the nature of their current situation, his curls were neat.

 Mikael barely had time to think before Raphael placed a hand on his chest, urging him to lay back against the soft array of pillows. His hands paused at the laces on Mikael’s breeches, raising his eyebrows and waiting for confirmation that he was not acting out of turn. Mikael gave a weak nod, his fingers gripping the sheet beneath him with impressive strength.

 The sensation of his breeches being unlaced and pulled down was a sensation that he was not entirely prepared for. He felt overexposed, suddenly, turning his face away from his partner.

 Upon noticing this, Raphael gripped his jaw with a commanding yet gentle hand, turning his face once more until their eyes met.

 “Beautiful” Raphael mused, eyes deeply serious.

\--

 He could not breathe as he watched Raphael trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest. His fingers abandoned their grip on the sheet and found their way back into Raphael’s curls once he reached Mikael’s stomach. Unyielding, he sucked at the sensitive skin there, ensuring a bruise would form by morning.

 Raphael’s mouth soon found the most intimate part of him, eliciting a cracked moan and a buck of his hips. He clenched his eyes shut, wanting to focus on nothing but the feeling of the moment. Every sense was heightened; he could taste Raphael’s lips, he could hear every one of his breaths, he could smell the musk, he could see stars behind his closed eyelids, and, most importantly he could _feel._

 He could feel the building crescendo at the pit of his belly as Raphael pulled off just to immediately swallow him back down once more. Mikael could hardly get his words of protest to leave his mouth. This was good, so good, but he couldn’t let it end so soon. “Not yet,” he gasped, “please, not yet. Not until—”

 His words were stopped when Raphael’s lips met his own once again, lowering his body onto Mikael’s. The friction between them was glorious, but also maddening, somehow it was both too much and not enough.

 “Take me.” Mikael repeated before catching Raphael’s lips.

\-- 

 They lay together in the aftermath, skin against skin. The summer weather was too insistent to allow them to get under the blankets together. The lamp lay discarded, meaning that their only source of light was the bright glow of the moon.

 Mikael lay on his back, propped up against the pillows, with Raphael’s head on his chest. Neither of them slept, yet neither of them spoke. The silence was wonderful; the only sound being the chirping of crickets outside and the slow, steady sound of breath.

 There was a new type of soreness in Mikael’s legs, and he could see quite a few marks of lovemaking beginning to darken on his chest and his stomach. His hand stroked Raphael’s hair, as one would stroke a housecat. Their impending separation from each other seemed so far away, yet so close. Mikael could not allow himself to sleep, he could not allow himself to waste these precious hours, even if they did nothing more than lay in silence.

\--

 Mikael woke alone, the sheets cold. Although he expected it, there was a strange pang of disappointment in his chest. The carriage would be ready, soon, and Raphael would disappear into the afternoon. He had not hoped for the events of the previous night to carry into the morning, yet he could not recall a time where he had felt lonelier.

 His limbs were sluggish as he dressed, sore in places. The bruises on his body had only darkened, now a deep, ruddy red. He did not bother to lace himself into a doublet, once again opting for nothing more extravagant than a linen shirt and riding breeches.

 He made his way downstairs, silently hoping he had not overslept and missed Raphael’s departure. Thankfully, he had not.

 He arrived just as his sister wished him safe travels, Raphael’s head turned at the sound of Mikael’s footfalls, and an apologetic expression washed over his face for the briefest of moments. Mikael took the man’s hand in his own, squeezing a reassurance.

“Raphael, my friend, it was a pleasure having you here with us.”

“Lord Rochert, the pleasure was mine. May we have many sparring matches in the future.”

 Mikael smiled, though it was a bit strained. “I’d love nothing more.

\--

 “Oh, he was wonderful, wasn’t he?” His sister asked, wistfully, still gazing in the direction that his carriage had gone.

 Mikael swallowed hard, not enjoying the quickening of his pulse. “Wonderful.” He echoed. “Indeed, he was.”

\--

 

 

 


	2. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the folks who asked for chapter two because I probably wouldn't have finished this train wreck, if not for you. I promise demonic stuff will start happening in the next chapter :00

 The next time they had seen one another was at the end of Autumn. The trees losing their brilliantly colored leaves and the air becoming cold.

 Maggie had found another suitor and was engaged to be married to him; a wealthy merchant’s son whom Mikael had yet to meet. Allegedly, he was of higher social standing than Raphael had been, and twice as handsome (in his sister’s words). They corresponded through letters, and she seemed absolutely smitten with the man. Her arrangement with Lord Favreau had come to an end shortly after he came to visit, with a letter expressing his sincerest apologies for breaking off the courtship. His excuse related to his knighthood training, although Mikael suspected there might have been another reason.

 As a young man, Mikael would raise no suspicion by going to visit a friend in a nearby town. He could set off for Raphael’s estate at any time, and no one would even consider the fact that they had shared such intimate relations. Still, Mikael was hesitant. He had not even the slightest clue that Raphael was interested in ever seeing him again.

 That was, until the invitation arrived; a simple piece of parchment stamped with a detailed wax seal. It read:

 “ _My good friend, Lord Rochert,_

_I offer my sincerest apologies that I have not written sooner. I leave for my first battle in the coming weeks, and I would forever regret if I did not have the opportunity to see you before then, lest I fall during combat._

_It would please me greatly to extend an invitation to you, and to assure you that you will be warmly welcomed at my family’s estate, should you decide to accept._

_Yours truly_

_R. Favreau.”_

\--

The ride to the estate was pleasant enough, offering Mikael a view of the French countryside. He did not bring a company with him, choosing to make the journey alone. When his sister caught wind of his departure, she gave him a knowing smile and clasped his hand in her own. “I’m glad to know that you’ve found a friend.” She’d said. A mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She was always too observant for her own good.

 They stopped over in a quaint village for one night, renting a room at a small inn and setting back out early the next morning. Mikael was right, he could make the journey in two days, and the estate came into view by the time the sun started to dip behind the horizon.

 Raphael was at the front steps, ready to greet him before the carriage pulled to a halt. He was smiling, dressed in casual clothes, his hair loose and whipping in the wind. A regally postured woman soon came to stand by his side, and it was clear from her appearance that she was Raphael’s mother.

 Mikael exited the carriage and tried to conceal his nervous excitement. Would Raphael mention what happened between them? Would they simply carry on as if nothing had occurred?

 “Lord Rochert, my friend! Welcome to the estate.” He extended an arm for Mikael to balance himself as he stepped onto the ground.

 “It has been too long, Lord Favreau.” Mikael grinned, pleased to find his expression mirrored in Raphael’s.

 The woman came closer, inclining her head toward Mikael.

 “Ah, may I introduce my mother, Lady Delphine Favreau.”

 “A pleasure, Lord Rochert.” She was unlike the other noblewomen Mikael had met, he could tell just from her introduction. She was poised, but she was warmer, more inviting than most. She wore a burgundy gown and a fur cloak; her greying hair was styled in a plait over one shoulder. Mikael decided that she must have been very beautiful in her earlier years, and that beauty had remained with her even as she grew older.

 “Lady Favreau, it is an honor. I look forward to spending these few days in your lovely home.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Raphael before returning her eyes to Mikael. “Yes, my son could use a steady influence in his life. You might talk him out of throwing his life away on the battlefield.”

 It was then that Mikael remembered why Raphael had summoned him. He was leaving for battle in a matter of days, his chances of survival not any higher than the average soldier. Mikael turned to Raphael, who was gazing at him with a strained expression.

“Mother,” Raphael scolded with mock offense, “such a somber topic to dwell on right before dinner.”

\--

 The dinner itself was filled with pleasant conversation. Mikael was introduced to Raphael’s father, and to his three brothers. Raphael was the oldest of the four boys, and his urge to prove himself suddenly made sense when Mikael gave it thought.

 “My son remains unmarried, Lord Rochert.” Lady Favreau had said, when on the topic of siblings. “I do hope your sister was not offended when Raphael ended the courtship so abruptly.”

 Mikael dared a glance in Raphael’s direction, to find that he was gazing back at him with an apologetic expression.

 “Not at all, Lady Favreau. On the contrary, she found his desire to fight honorable.” This made Raphael smile into his drink.

 “Well then, I am glad. Raphael is quite selective with the women he chooses to court, and he spoke highly of Lady Marguerite. My only wish is to see him happy.”

 “A respectable wish, my Lady.”

 The topic shifted, but Mikael was still dwelling on her words, he had so many questions that had to be saved for a later time. Raphael was selective? Had Maggie been the first woman he attempted to form a courtship with? Was he happy?

 Throughout the night, they shared many looks across the table. Mikael wanted so badly to reach out, to touch him, to brush the stray curl from his forehead. They had not shared a moment alone since he arrived, and the anticipation was building by the second.

 When the dishes were cleared and the pitchers of wine emptied, it was late into the evening. Mikael could feel the fatigue of travel in every inch of his being but tried his best not to let it show.  Likely sensing his drowsiness, Lady Favreau paused the conversation.

 “I’m sure our new friend is exhausted from the journey, I will call a servant to escort you to your chambers, Lord Rochert.”

 Mikael was unable to refuse her offer, and before he could think of a clever plan to steal a moment with Raphael, he was already upstairs and down the hall. If Raphael was planning on visiting him in the dead of night, Mikael figured that he had every means to do so; he had the advantage of being acquainted with the complicated layout of the estate, an advantage that Mikael did not have.  

\--

 They went riding, the next morning. Raphael finished tacking his impressively sized bay Clydesdale with minimal effort; tall enough to mount the animal without using a block. Still drowsy, Mikael took longer to saddle his own horse—a sleek, dappled grey mare. Her mane was braided when Mikael arrived at the barn, and he silently wondered if Raphael had been the one to do it.

 The weather was chilly, but not uncomfortable. Mikael rode behind Raphael, enjoying the view of his curls dancing in the breeze, his posture immaculate. Conversation was sparse between them; Raphael asked about Maggie, and Mikael responded as cordially as he could.

 There were so many questions. So many things that he needed to say, but the words would not come. There was an unspoken tension and Mikael realized that this was the first time they had been alone since…

 “Shall we head back?” Raphael called over his shoulder.

 Mikael nodded, and they were back at the stables before he knew it. Raphael dismounted with ease, leading his horse into an empty stall. He walked over to Mikael, offering a hand to help him get down from the saddle. Though Mikael could have gotten down on his own, he accepted the gesture with a smile.

 They walked back to the estate side by side, the sun now hanging high. In the foyer, they stood fading one another, a little awkwardly.

 “I should go change my clothes, I’m sure I must look like a stable boy.”

 “A handsome stable boy.”  Mikael responded, a little too quickly. And then, flustered; “I…meant to say that—”

 Raphael cut him off with a bought of laughter that Mikael would remember for the rest of his life. His dark eyes shining.

 “I’ll see you at the table, my friend.” He gave Mikael a mischievous look before heading up the stairs

\--

 Dinner went as well as it had the previous night, with a new servant being summoned to show Mikael to his chambers when they were finished. With the knowledge that he was leaving the next afternoon, the walk down the hallway seemed a bit sad.

 He had a handful of hours before he returned home, with no promise of ever seeing Raphael again. They still hadn’t discussed their relationship, and they were fast running out of time.

 Mikael tried to sleep, tossing and turning with restlessness. He entertained the thought of running barefoot through the halls in search of Raphael’s chambers, but ultimately decided against it. His solitude was maddening as he paced the length of the room.

 

\--

 “So, you’ve finally come to see me.” Mikael did not turn away from the ornate mirror as he heard the door open, speaking the words to his own face rather than Raphael’s.

 “Finally? Were you expecting me?”

 “Are we carrying on as though nothing has happened?” Mikael turned, sharply, taking in Raphael’s form; his hair was loose, shirt hanging unlaced and revealing a collarbone. He was holding a bottle of wine and two ornate, pewter goblets.

 He had come here in the dead of night to see Mikael, to sit with him and drink wine. It took Raphael a moment to understand Mikael’s audible frustration.

 “You’ve made no advances—"

 “I awaited a letter from you, Raphael, I thought…” He sighed, now frustrated with himself. “I thought you were ashamed of me. Of what we’d done.”

 “And what would I have to be ashamed of? Lovemaking?”

 “Lovemaking with a man.”

 “Ah,” Raphael seemed to understand, pouring himself some wine and taking a long sip of it.

 “Had you done it before? With a man?”

 “Would that disgust you?”

 “No, I—” Mikael paused, confused. “No, it would not.”

 “Then yes. I had. I do not see why it is so different than taking a woman.”

 Mikael nodded slowly, he agreed in some way, but the idea seemed so foreign. He did not regret the night that they shared, yet he still felt guilt.

 “Is that why you haven’t married?”

 “One of the reasons.” He studied Raphael’s face; he was beautiful, with a face so perfectly angular that he bore uncanny resemblance to a marble sculpture. If making love to someone so ethereal, so perfect, was a sinful act, Mikael decided he would be comfortable abandoning heaven for it. Raphael broke the silence between them once more, his breath now ghosting over Mikael’s lips.

 “I apologize if it’s out of turn for me to say; but I believe I’ve fallen for you, Lord Rochert.”

 Mikael felt his cheeks warm, air leaving his lungs in a shocked exhale. He tried for a teasing tone when he spoke next. “Do you use such charming words with every boy you bring to your bed?”

 “Only the special ones.” Mikael laughed at that, taking Raphael’s face in his hands and pulling him into a kiss.

\--

 Mikael sat upright, sipping water from an ornate goblet. He was still naked, as was his partner—who lay on his side, regarding him wordlessly. The window beside Raphael’s canopied bed offered a panoramic view of the autumn scenery, and they were kept warm by the fire that blazed in the hearth on the opposite side of the room.

 “Must you leave?” Mikael asked suddenly, although he already knew the answer. His eyes still fixed on something in the distance.

 “Just for a short while. I’ll be back before the new year.”

 Mikael hummed in response, his eyes lowered, now focusing on the rumpled bedding that pooled at Raphael’s bare hips. 

 “What is it that’s troubling you?” He asked, running a gentle hand along the length of Mikael’s spine.

 “I am frightened for you.” The admission felt like a weight dropping from his shoulders; he could finally breathe again.

 Raphael touched his cheek softly, pressing his lips to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose. “My love. Nothing so insignificant as battle could ever come between us.”

 “Death is not so insignificant.”

 “You doubt my skill with a weapon? Have you forgotten that I bested you when we met?”

 Mikael smiled fondly, remembering the feeling of being knocked backward and landing in the dirt. “Because you were so taken with my charm.”

 “Because I have trained since I was a boy and because I know what I am doing. And because I was taken with your charm.”

 The mood lightened between them as Mikael closed the space between their faces.

 “Promise you’ll come back alive.”

 “As you say, my Lord.”

\--


End file.
